Dark Alliances
by Sadly-Illiterate
Summary: When the self proclaimed clown prince of crime cuts a swath of terror through Gotham, the fledgling Dark Knight will be forced into an unlikely and dangerous alliance to bring down his newest and toughest foe. Rated T for language and violence.
1. A Knight, a Joker, and a Ghost

Here is my fic: Dark Alliances, I hope you enjoy it; reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated.

Bruce Wayne was lying in bed in the rebuilt half of Wayne Manor, the rest was still under construction seeing as Ra's Al Ghul had taken it upon himself to torch the place. It had been not quite two months ago, but Bruce's pain had yet to heal.

Physical pain being the most obvious, even after the time that passed Bruce still winced whenever he moved, his body was a mass of recovering black and blue marks and his ribs had been cracked so breathing wasn't all that fun either. But under that, he had darker pain that hurt worse than any of his injuries.

He had destroyed his family home…His father's home. True he hadn't lit the match, but he was still responsible. He consoled himself with the fact that none of his party guests were harmed. But that too led to more pain. He still hadn't thrown out the newspaper: Drunken Billionaire Burns Down Home. He had saved the lives of those people by acting the fool, and what did he get in return, rough insults from people he'd never even met to disappointed looks from his father's old friends. Still, no one would think that the arrogant and well, not too bright Bruce Wayne persona he put on could ever be the dark figure that haunted the dreams of those who would do wrong.

Batman. Being hailed as a hero by the citizens of Gotham and warned as a psychopath by the police. Bruce rolled over in bed and sighed, which also brought on some lovely waves of ache. If Batman did not exist, Gotham would have been lost. It was a twisted irony that the man who had inadvertently led to the creation of Batman was the one who sought Gotham's destruction.

Ra's Al Ghul.

During his time at the lair of the League of Shadows, back when Bruce had known him as Ducard, he had considered Ra's as a second father, never replacing his real father but giving him guidance that Thomas Wayne was now unable to. It made Bruce's stomach turn now that he had held the maniac in such high esteem. But he knew that without him he would never be able to fight the criminals of Gotham, to swoop from the buildings of the decrepit city and deal out justice.

Thankfully, Bruce had plenty to keep him busy from thinking too much. Now that Rachel knew who he truly was, certainly not the windbag everyone saw, they tried to meet up almost every day. He loved her and was ninety percent certain that she loved him back. Also, there was Alfred, who was never without a grin or a particularly bad joke to make Bruce groan. And there was always of course, the grim satisfaction of knowing that Ra's Al Ghul and his deranged plans for Gotham were absolutely and certainly dead.

And then there was this new guy, the one Gordon had told him about. The Joker, what kind of name was that? He had committed a triple homicide and armed robbery some time ago and had not been captured and was now slipping from the minds of Gothamites. But Bruce smarter than that. Villains with that sort of style didn't just fade into the woodwork and disappear, he'd be back. Bruce knew he'd be back. He gasped through his teeth as he pulled himself from his bed. Justice was supposed to never sleep, but the man being hailed as the Dark Knight couldn't help but wonder when the hell he'd get a chance to rest.

Rest was the last thing on Jack Napier's mind. He had hoped to gain some sort of notoriety after offing that family and making off with their cash, unfortunately, what with all the other loonies who had escaped from Arkham Asylum committing similar acts, Jack had been pushed from the limelight. But not for long, he had a few things those other nut jobs lacked, like brains, planning and a partner-

"Jack? What are we doing here?"

-Who refused to shut up.

Jack ran his fingers through his neon green hair in brusque irritation. True, the psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel had her uses. She listened to his schemes while he was in Arkham, really listened and told him that she in fact agreed with him and would do everything she could to help him. Their chance came during the attack on Gotham during which the cells in asylum had opened and Harley had spirited him away to her apartment. But honestly, sometimes she asked far too many questions-

"And seriously, what's up with this costume you want me to wear?"

Like she was doing now.

Jack took a breath and adjusted the cufflinks of his ridiculously purple suit and slowly counted to ten. It would not be prudent to blow his pretty cohort's brains out at this point in time.

"Firstly," he said at last, "and most importantly: I've said once, I've said it a thousand times, from now on I only answer to Joker!"

"Why?"

Jack motioned to his paper-white face and broad, crimson lips. "Fits, don't it?"

It was hard for Harleen to argue with that. The chemicals that had scarred Jack Napier left him looking…rather clownish. But that still didn't answer her questions.

Jack could see her starting to open her mouth and waved his hand. "Furthermore, this will be our current base of operations from now on."

"It's a warehouse!" Harleen cried. "It's right next to the Narrows, it's dangerous!"

"It's the last place any cop's gonna go and it's a lot safer than your apartment, which they'll think to check. Finally, your outfit is to fit in with our ongoing theme, Joker and Jester. From this point on, that jester's outfit is your uniform and you are…Harley Quinn!"

"That," replied the newly dubbed Harley, "is sooo cheesy. Anyway, you sure we couldn't find a place nicer? You took a lot of money from that family."

"It wasn't about the money!" Jack snapped. "It's about attention, which I'm not getting. I need manpower and to get that I need to be noticed, I need to do something, draw out a certain freaky bat that's got all the crooks running for their lives…"

Harley gazed into the man's eyes, beginning to truly see him as the mad Joker he now claimed to be.

"What is all this? Wha exactly are we going to do?" she asked softly.

"Don't worry about it, babe, I got plans. Boy, do I ever have plans…"

While a Knight pondered and a Joker planned, somewhere far away from Gotham, an old man was sitting in a compartment on a train, his thoughts flying even faster than the speeding locomotive.

He wore a dark suit and darker gloves, an expensive looking cane propped against his seat. At a glance the man could be seen as fairly handsome, with the air of someone important who, though pleasant, could be dangerous.

Under the gloves, the sleeves of his shirt, criss-crossing his entire body were livid scars and raised lacerations. Though he barely felt any pain now, the man could recall to not very long ago when his body had seemed as if it were on fire and he had contemplated death. Even now, he walked with a permanent limp and his cane was no longer just for show.

But still, he was dangerous.

He was jerked from his thoughts as the door to his compartment was violently slid open, revealing three bulky, scowling men who looked like doling out pain was their main profession-and indeed it was.

These men were former thugs for Carmine Falcone, they had fled Gotham when their boss had been fingered and only now judged it safe to return. They were tired, a little scared of the stories of the giant bat man, and pissed as all hell to see some old man making himself at home in their compartment.

The leader of the three, who went by Stokes, stepped forward and glared at the man.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Sitting," he replied calmly.

"Yeah? Well your sitting in _our _space! Get out before we make you."

"Must I?" the man asked innocently. "I believe there's another empty compartment just a bit further down."

"Then you take it," growled Stokes. "This one's ours, now move or we'll make it so you can't ever move again!"

Then, the man did something very unexpected, he actually laughed! Stokes was confused, this was not normally what happened when he got mad, people gibbered, pleaded but never laughed.

He shrugged. "All right, you asked for it!"

Stokes and his buddies piled into the compartment, slamming the door shut behind them. Outside in the hallway, a series of grunts and loud thumps could be heard, followed by a long silence when the door slid open again, the old man letting himself out. Behind him lay the bodies of three thugs who may have been unconscious, or may have been dead, the man wasn't sure, it wasn't like he was doctor.

He closed the door and made his way to the empty compartment down near the other end. As he was opening the door an attendant walked past.

"Sir, was there a problem with your other compartment?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "No, not at all. Some others approached and told me they had a prior claim to it. It really didn't seem worth fighting over."

"Oh, well, enjoy the rest of your trip Mr.," she paused, trying to recall the man's name, remembering that it had been something interesting.

"Ghal?" she tried.

"Ghul," he corrected patiently.

"Right, like ghoul, like a ghost?"

The man grinned. "Exactly."

"Enjoy the trip, Mr. Ghul."

The old man nodded and closed the door, easing into the cushioned seat and setting his cane down. The train had a ways to go until it reached Gotham City, but eventually, Ra's Al Ghul would get there, and when he did, he would kill Bruce Wayne.

Well, that's it for now. I know this chapter was kind of boring, but it will get more exciting, I promise! You will get explanations for everything, though I plan on taking a few liberties with Harley and the Joker, but hey, that's why they call it fan fiction, right?


	2. A bat and a clown walk into a bank

Yikes, sorry about the late update! Work, she is a bitch…

Disclaimer: (sort of forgot this last time) own nothing, yada yada.

Jack Napier had been an ordinary gangster on the crime-ridden streets of Gotham city. Sure, he had been quicker to shoot than the others, took more enjoyment out of watching his victims suffer and certainly had an odd sense of humor, but it really wasn't enough to distinguish him from the rest of the rabble. Then came the botched bank job.

Long before the streets of Gotham were guarded by the Dark Knight, back when Bruce Wayne had only just met a strange man named Ducard, Jack had led an assault on the First Bank of Gotham, but someone had tipped off the police who were waiting with an arsenal of weapons.

After watching his buddies get slaughtered, Jack managed to make it back to his car and drove wildly through the city, pursued at every turn. Finally, he veered in the Gotham chemical plant, crashing his car through the front doors and slamming fender first into a vat of toxins. With the front of the car crushed, Jack squirmed and writhed, desperately trying to escape the vehicle as chemicals sprayed through the fractured windshield.

When the police found him, Jack was amazingly still alive, but permanently scarred in both body and mind. He was examined by none other than Dr. Jonathan Crane, who declared a danger to himself and everyone around him and placed him in the secure wing of Arkham. For once, the assistant DA Miss Dawes had made no argument.

But things were different now, he was no longer Jack Napier the thug, but Joker, the mad clown with a twisted dream to make Gotham his own. And since it had all began at the First Bank of Gotham, it was only fitting that things would now come full circle at the same place…

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a good old fashioned hold-up! Put on a happy face and point me in the direction of the money!"

Dressed her jester's costume, Harley rolled her eyes. "Put on a happy face? Lame."

"Shut-up!" hissed the Joker, "you are _ruining_ the effect!"

There was only one teller left working since the bank had been about to close and he now wished dearly that he had gone home early as Joker fired his gun just slightly to the left of the poor teller's head.

"Hey! Can I get some service over here? Or do you have better things to be doing, Mark?" he asked, reading the man's nametag.

Mark shook and turned an interesting shade of green as the clown took potshots at fleeing customers. He tapped the panic button over and over, wondering if the police would even show. He had only one hope, one slim chance for survival-the batman.

The batman was busy. Bruce was in a meeting and was focusing all his power and strength on staying awake and not yawning too much as some lower chairman person went over some budget plan that Bruce could not care less about. Lucius Fox, his new director, was riveted and that was great for Lucius, who really was the only one with any business sense, but the old man refused to take over the company from Bruce, claiming that Thomas Wayne wouldn't have wanted him to. So for Lucius and his father's memory, Bruce disguised another disinterested yawn as a cough and gazed out the window.

The sun had nearly sunk below the horizon and darkness was claiming the skyline of Gotham, Bruce idly thought about Rachel, who had been promoted from assistant to DA in the wake of her boss's death. What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about him? Was she staring out her own window at the bat-shaped beacon that lit the twilight sky?

_Wait a minute!_

The bat signal! The one Gordon had made just a few months ago, batman was needed and Bruce had probably never been so happy about it. He stretched his arms, elbowing Lucius slightly.

"Bruce!" Fox hissed in irritation.

The young billionaire angled his head towards the window and Lucius mouthed: "Oh."

Bruce stood up suddenly, clutching his stomach and moaning.

"Is something wrong?" asked the presenter.

"Something I ate earlier," choked out Bruce. "Must have been the-urk-sushi…I'm sorry!"

The presenter shook his head sympathetically. "No, no, go ahead."

Bruce nodded his thanks and dashed out of the room, diving for the elevator. He straightened up and ran out to the parking lot, driving home at speeds Alfred would never have approved of.

"I saw the signal," was the Englishman's hello as Bruce slammed the front door behind him and made for his underground lair.

"Just please," Alfred started, "don't do anything too-" the secret door was already shut and Bruce was gone.

"-Too late for that, I suppose," he finished, resuming his dusting of antiques.

Meanwhile, Joker was gazing lovingly at his bags of loot. He had meant what he said to Harley before, it wasn't about the money, it was about the plan, and the bloodshed, that too. But that didn't mean he wasn't entitled to enjoy said money.

"Thanks a bunch, Marky-mark," he cackled, cocking his pistol and waving it playfully at the customers who had been unable to escape. "And thank all of you for being such a wonderful audience!"

"Batman," swallowed Mark the teller, "he will come, he will catch you."

"Oh I hope so," purred the terrifying clown, taking aim between Mark's eyes, his fingers stroking the trigger. "Let's just hope he's not too late,"

The Joker squeezed the trigger, only to have the gun jerked out of his hand and sent skipping across the floor. He jumped with surprise and pain, a bat shaped…thing was now lodged firmly in his palm. Joker pulled it out, blood flowing from the wound, and turned to face Batman.

"I'm always just in time," Bruce replied in the gravelly voice that was a part of his persona. Inwardly, he cringed. The line had sounded very tough and cool in his head, but out loud, rather stupid.

He had briefly met up with Gordon at the spotlight, who had told him of the situation, and that cops were on the way, but that Batman could get there faster. Bruce now stood facing the green-haired, pale skinned psycho and his disinterested looking jester cohort, ready to fight.

"Well, well," muttered Joker. "You're smaller than I thought you'd be."

Rather than toss back a witty reply, Bruce instead leapt at the Joker, pile-driving him into an ATM and slamming his head against the keypad. Thinking that was that, Bruce dropped his guard and the Joker, disoriented, still managed to grab Bruce's legs and pull him to the ground. He then roughly elbowed Bruce in the crotch, the suit not protecting him nearly as much as he would have hoped.

Bruce gasped on the floor, dots of pain dancing in his vision. He managed to tackle the fleeing Joker back down to the floor, grabbing hold of the clown's windpipe and squeezing.

"Ack…" Joker gasped. "Let's see how…tough you are when…you're as blind…as a bat!"

With his one free hand, the Joker pushed the garish fake flower on his suit and a smoking, green ooze squirted out into Bruce's eyes. He cried out, clawing at the eyeholes in his mask, momentarily forgetting everyone and everything as he desperately rubbed his eyes.

As his vision came back into focus, he stood up and saw the Joker, grinning from ear to ear.

"Look what I found," he said gleefully as he waved his rediscovered pistol and promptly fired three rounds into Bruce's chest as he tried to dodge, dropping the batman to the floor.

As the victims stared in fear at the motionless Batman, Joker and Harley took their leave, sirens blaring in the distance as the cops finally arrived. As Joker slammed the accelerator pedal of the getaway car he laughed wildly, flushed with victory.

"I did it! I killed him! That's the kind of notoriety that pays off! We'll have crooks from all over Gotham begging to join me now!"

Harley nodded, equally charged. "It was amazing! We got him!"

"We? What'd you do?"

"I…" she paused. "Offered moral support?"

Joker rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and count the money."

Back in the bank, Mark came out from behind the teller booth, edging towards the fallen crusader nervously.

"Is he dead…?" he asked, feeling that someone needed to say it aloud.

He reached for the mask, wondering what sort of person would put themselves in such danger for people they didn't even know.

Bruce was eyeing up the prototype armor. If he truly intended to go ahead with his insane plan, some protection would be nice. 

"_Is it bulletproof?" he asked Lucius innocently._

"_Anything but a straight shot," the wizened techie replied._

"_I want to borrow it," Bruce started, "for…spelunking."_

"…_Spelunking?" Lucius repeated, his eyebrows raised in suspicion_

"_Yeah, you know, cave diving?"_

_Bruce chewed his lip nervously as Lucius smiled, bemused._

"_You expecting to run into much gunfire in these caves?"_

But before the teller's fingers could even brush the tip of the mask, Batman shot up, grunting in pain.

Mark inched back, astounded. "How?"

Bruce grinned, despite the throbbing in his chest. "I'm Batman."

And he dramatically exited the bank, shooting a grappling hook onto the roof of a nearby building before collapsing in pain.

"Ow, ow ow! God Dammit!"

He slid his tiny cell phone out of his belt and dialed Wayne Manor.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Wayne?" replied the worried voice on the other end.

"I've been," he paused not wanting to alarm his old friend and guardian more than he had to, "uh, hurt. Could you meet me at the corner of 51st and Stirling, quickly?"

"Certainly," Alfred replied, trying very hard not to panic.

The last time the young master had called for Alfred's help, he had been sprayed by a hallucinogen that had kept him delirious for two days. This time, it appeared Bruce had been shot.

He hadn't asked any questions, just helped into the car and drove home as fast as he could, wincing every time he glanced at Bruce clutching his stomach in the back seat.

When they made it home, Bruce uttered a few words of thanks, told Alfred to get to bed and made for his cave. He sank to the cold rock floor, yanking off his mask and stripping to his waist. He lay the top half of his suit down on his workbench, staring at the bullets embedded in it and marveling at Lucius's genius.

But even marveling hurt and along with the three golf-ball sized welts on his chest, his whole torso was beginning to turn black, blue and several colors in between. He had probably cracked a few ribs as well. And, last but foremost in Bruce's mind, the Joker had escaped.

What was he planning? Was there a method to his random hits? Where would he strike next? Every nerve in Bruce's body ached, but now was no time for sleep.

I need to think, I need to do some research, I have to…zzzzzz… And, facedown on his workbench, the fledgling hero slipped out of consciousness. 

It was never wise for a teacher to become emotionally attached to a student, especially if said student goes on to blow up your headquarters, try to dismantle your greatest plans and eventually abandons you in a speeding train bound for hell.

Ra's had taught many great students, but Bruce Wayne had been his best, perhaps even successor material. He had treated boy as if he were his own and what did he have to show for it? A permanent limp and a vow for revenge.

Ra's thought back to when he was thrown from the train as it had exploded, rescued by what remained of his men and taken to Metropolis, where he had agents keeping tabs on the red-caped boy scout who guarded the city. Now there was a man who made Bruce's persona seem _subtle_. Anyway, he was barely clinging to life, had his best healers and physicians come to his aid, the only thing keeping him going the thought of wringing the life from Bruce's neck.

He sighed, shaking his head as if to free it from such dark thoughts, staring out the window of the train as tendrils of dawn snaked across the sky. He turned on the small television monitor embedded in the headrest of the seat across from him. It blinked on to CNN, which had a live feed coming from the First Bank of Gotham.

"_Just hours ago this bank was the scene of terror and chaos as a crazed man described as looking like a clown robbed the bank and fired on the customers and employee, injuring five and killing two."_

Ra's shook his head, disgusted. There was no honor, no real skill in firearms. Any idiot could fire a gun. And the clown disguise, it was nearly as ridiculous as the potato sack that a former tool of his used to wear on his head.

"_There was only one teller working and we have him with us, sir, what's your name?"_

A small, mousy man took the microphone, gesturing wildly with his free hand as he spoke.

"_My name's Mark Robinson and it was scary as hell! There was the clown guy and this jester chick and they were just firing on everybody! But the batman, he came! He really did and he beat the crap out of that joker! But then, the clown guy shot him a couple times and got away."_

Ra's froze, his heart in his throat. Had he been robbed of his chance for vengeance by some third-rate criminal?

"_But after that, he just jumped back up like he was fine! It was unbelievable!"_

After Mark's testimony, the changed to a different story and Ra's shut the TV off, relieved that Bruce remained among the living. Still, things would have to be dealt with. Bruce would be killed by an equal, not some lunatic from the circus. Besides, God knows he needed a warm-up before going against his best student.

Yes, he would find and kill this joker, that sounded good. _Now, _he thought to himself, _if I was a stupid thug where would I hide?_

Somewhere good people would shy away from, somewhere dark, empty and preferably filled with characters of the same personality as the aforementioned thug. Ra's's smile was one of pure evil as he came to the logical answer.

The Narrows…

So that's all for now, sorry it took so long! PS, I know my action scenes suck, I'm still working on them. In the next chapter though, things finally start moving! (oh, and I never thought I'd use the word "embedded" twice in one chapter)


	3. Exits and Entrances

Welcome to chapter three, which is up at least a little faster than chapter two!

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

"Bruce! Anybody home!" Rachel waved her hand in front of Bruce's face, bringing him back to Earth.

"What? Sorry."

Rachel sighed and made as if to hit him upside the head. "What's going on? You said you wanted to meet me for lunch but you're a thousand miles away!"

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"BRUCE!"

Bruce _had _wanted to meet Rachel for lunch, but he couldn't get his mind off the Joker. It killed him to think that he had let him escape, and the constant chest pain was just another reminder of how he'd screwed up.

"I'm sorry Rachel, I did want to see you. I'm just…preoccupied."

"What, with the clown guy? He really did a number on you, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did, but that remark really made it all better," he replied sarcastically.

Rachel shrugged. "Well, at least you were listening to me. Anyway, he's definitely going to strike again, you'll get another opportunity, and hopefully you'll be more careful."

"Or at least less stupid," he muttered.

Rachel reached across the table, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Seriously Bruce, you have no idea how scared I was when I saw that news coverage. Most girls don't have to worry about their boyfriends getting killed by psychopaths or swinging around in dangerous parts of town, putting themselves in harm's way,"

Bruce smiled and imitated Rachel's shrug. "Most girls aren't going out with Batman."

Meanwhile, the train on which Ra's traveled had finally pulled into Gotham. He exited the station regally, his cane creating a cadence of tapping on the rusted metal walkway. He emerged into the late afternoon sun, glancing up at the elevated train tracks that encircled the city. It irked him to see that they had been repaired since his time in Gotham.

For all his grand plans, Ra's Al Ghul had left no lasting trace on the city, let alone anything else. Anger and pride mixed together in a toxic fashion as he recalled how Bruce had thwarted him. He'd shake the man's hand if he didn't want to stab him in the heart so badly instead.

But, he reminded himself, business before pleasure. He had contacts to reach, a clown to find and remove and only then could he allow himself the primal joy of revenge.

Meanwhile, whispers had been circulating throughout the lower reaches of Gotham, the Narrows afire with the mutterings. It wasn't much, in some cases it was only a single word:

Joker.

The strange, laughing, scarred man who had put not just one but three bullets in the frightening and mysterious Batman and escaped unharmed. A man who would've made Falcone shiver with apprehension, this was the crazed, brilliant criminal who was looking for talent, taking any and all comers who wished to join in his mad quest to make Gotham his own.

The whispers left a trail that could be followed all the way to the lonely warehouse at the edge of the Narrows, at the edge of the world, where the Joker made his home. There was to be a meeting, the whispers said, a gathering of like minds during which the mastermind would reveal his plans and send his new minions out to do his bidding.

But whispers can very easily reach the wrong ears, and so they did the night Lieutenant Jim Gordon overheard the plans in a hushed conversation between his newest crooked partner and a man shadowed and unseen in an alleyway. When his partner had returned to the cruiser he had said nothing, but given Gordon a glare that needed no words.

And now Jim sat at home, scratching his head over this problem as his tiny daughter sat drooling in his lap.

So many criminals, including this Joker character in one place. They could get their strongest forces and arrest them all. Or would they be simply be walking into a slaughter in which the aforementioned criminals took them on, made bold by strength in numbers?

Or would the matter simply be overlooked by the frightened and impotent law enforcement of Gotham?

Gordon couldn't allow that. There was only one thing he could do. That same night, he had rushed out to the rooftop where Batman's signal lived and turned it on, waiting for the inevitable appearance of the masked man. Gordon had often wondered as to the vigilante's identity but had never come close to figuring it out, and it wasn't as if he planned on asking.

It was as his musings ended that the man himself swooped in, towering and imposing to the plain-clothes cop.

"What's the matter?" Batman asked, his voice betraying no emotion.

"I've…heard things, about some kind of gathering being held by our jester friend, somewhere way deep in the Narrows."

"And the police?"

Gordon sighed wearily. "Half are too scared to try looking, and the other half will be there to sign on with the Joker."

"The Joker?"

"That's what he's being called, what with the cards and get-up and all."

Batman nodded and for awhile there was only silence until he spoke again.

"Do you know when this is happening?"

"No," said Gordon, "just that it's soon."

"If I find anything," Batman started, edging slowly towards the rooftop's end. "You'll know."

"But how will I-" Gordon stopped mid-sentence as Batman leaped off the building, vanishing into the night.

"-know?"

Lieutenant Gordon had to admit, as irritating as that sort of exit was becoming, it undeniably cool. He moved to leave the roof when a harsh voice called out to him.

"Gordon! Start explaining, now!"

Joker lounged on the shadowed edge of the catwalk within the warehouse, watching as men filed in, ready to hear his gospel and obey his command. After all, if he had killed Batman, he could do anything.

When the massive building was finally at full capacity, cons rubbing elbows with crooks, Joker strode out into the middle of the catwalk, into the dim light, looking down at the crowd and thoroughly enjoying his moment in the proverbial spotlight.

"Good evening, slime of Gotham!" he greeted them. "I see many familiar and deranged faces tonight, as well as some supposed lawmen and various defamed gangsters. You all have two things in common-You smell downright awful,"

After a long pause for laughter than came from no one but Harley, Joker cleared his throat and continued. Some criminals just couldn't take a joke.

"And you wanna make this city your own!"

This brought the cheers.

"But who's the one who brought an end to your jollies?"

"Batman!"

"Who's the one who has filled decent citizens with hope?"

"Batman!"

"Who's taken it upon himself to 'save' Gotham?"

"Batman!"

"And who's the one who offed his flying rodent ass?"

"Ba-…Joker!"

The Joker sighed and shook his head. Muscle was great, but it really wasn't much without a brain.

"That's right, we won't be troubled by our dark little do-gooder anymore!"

This gained even wilder cheering, but it slowly faded to silence as a bout of obscenely loud laughter came from the back of the room.

_I'm the one who does the cackling around here! _The Joker thought, annoyed to have the attention taken away from him.

"Who's the wise guy in the back?" he called out.

It was an older man, leaning on a cane and smirking. "I have to apologize," he snickered. "As I'm not usually prone to such outbursts. But honestly, have you turned a TV lately?"

"What's the deal, Grandpa?" Joker asked, leaning over the railing.

"The deal, as you put it," the man replied, making his way through the mob, "is that if you had bothered to watch the news, you'd see your little bank job all over it, as well as the story of you shooting the batman."

"And?"

The man was now climbing up the stairs, albeit rather slowly. "And a bank teller, I believe his name was Mark, tells of how after you left, Batman dusted himself off and was right as rain."

If Joker weren't already as white as the moon, he would have gone pale with this news. The horde of criminals began to mutter amongst themselves, filled with doubt over this sudden revelation.

"You're lying!" the Joker sputtered. "I put three rounds in the bastard!"

"Well if you're so certain he's dead," the man replied calmly, his hand fingering the throwing star in his pocket, "perhaps I can help you go and check."

In a movement too fast to follow, the star was thrown, and all hell broke loose.

Hah! Cliffhanger O' Doom! Who caught Gordon on the roof? Does Joker have a fancy new piercing courtesy of Ra's? Where the heck is Batman? Read the next chapter and find out! (as soon as I write it)


End file.
